


Don't.

by virtute_alisque



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: and i'm really not all that sorry about it lol, honestly it was just a joke between friends, this is aboslute crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:30:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtute_alisque/pseuds/virtute_alisque





	Don't.

The Comedian is all spit and rage: a burning fire set to devour Vietnam as a whole. It is no surprise they end up here, his bitter soliloquy not lost on Manhattan. There is no way to placate him as he fuels his anger with a drink: Manhattan smells the alcohol from where he stands.

“You sound bitter,” he comments softly. His voice hardly drifting over the music and chatter in the bar.

The other man’s voice cuts through the noise, a harsh edge to it. “Me? Bitter? Fuck no. I think it’s hilarious.” There is evidence in the way he laughs around his cigar, chewing the tobacco in earnest. The cheery façade dies when a small Vietnamese woman enters the bar. Manhattan’s inexpressive gaze following her as she approaches.

She wants to talk. He’s reaching for a drink in an attempt to ignore her.  
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he bites at her. A slew of profanity and insults following in turn. The woman is unmoving, not yielding to the brutality of his words as she demands he remember. He scoffs at her obdurate stupidity. The escalation of events happens quickly. She slices his face and he pulls a gun on her: glaring at her in his sights.

“Blake. Don’t.” The toneless warning falls on deaf ears and the gunshot cuts through the bar, silencing its patrons immediately. In the aftershock of the event, he merely states the obvious. “She was pregnant and you gunned her down.”

The Comedian admits wholly to the event, reprimanding the other’s lack of humanity (hypocritical in hindsight). “That’s right. And you watched me. You could’ve turned the gun into steam, the bullets into mercury… the bottle into goddamn snowflakes! But you didn’t, did you. You really don’t give a damn about human beings. You’re drifting outta touch, Doc.” These are his parting words for Manhattan to chew on: The Comedian bellowing for a medic as he lumbers out of the bar, clutching his bleeding face.

Left alone, Manhattan watches him leave, mulling over the words he spoke in candor. His gaze travels from the Comedian’s exist to the dead woman sprawled on the floor and her pregnant belly. The bar is still silent, unmoving, as he quietly speaks.

“I said don’t.”


End file.
